1938 Appeasement
by Carmen Wayne
Summary: England and France talk to Nazi Germany and I guess Italy in an attempt to appease him in September 1938. Only discussion and antics.


Author's Note: I just wanted to write a little about Hetalia in World War 2. I have a fascination with the way Hetalia is twisted to real life facts (or stereotypes) and this was me playing around with how many countries did their best to appease the Third Reich so they wouldn't be massively invaded. . I'm not saying it's the super best, but I had fun writing this a while back and figured I'd move it here. Sorry if I miss some of the transitions between .txt to here as far as formatting goes!

There are no triggers here. It's just France, England, Germany and Italy having a round table discussion for the bulk of it! A little of Germany and Italy talking before, and after is England and France talking. After this, there's a little diatribe from me about where this came from.

Please keep in mind this title is only what it is because I'm horrible at titles XD

* * *

**September 28th, 1938**

One had to wonder how Germans could yell non-stop and still have a voice at the end of the day. It was kind of enchanting, in Italy's mind. Like Germany was a magical creature able to sustain impossible amounts of damage. "Are you a fairy, Germany?" he asked as he fumbled with his belt. He was a bit tired, because it was so early in the morning. But Germany had big plans that day.

In the middle of abusing a wall with a hammer, Germany stopped and _looked_ at his ally with a quirked eyebrow. Honestly, the things that came out of his mouth at times… "Do I _look_ like a fairy?" he asked under the shade of his fatigue hat.

After a yawn, Italy smiled with blurry vision at his friend. "Fairies can look like normal people when walking with them, right?"

Still staring, Germany responded, "I think you're confusing fairies with angels." And back to hammering nails into the wall, he went. He needed to get the large, iconic picture of his eccentric boss up onto the wall before heading out.

Italy's eyes widened and became very literally starry as he held up his hands. One eye closed as he pushed his hands together into a ring. It looked like a halo in his brain, right about Germany's head! "Then Germany must be an angel!"

The hammer slammed against the wall, breaking one of the nails, cracking the wood, and missing Germany's hand by a _hair_. "Will you stop that?" he shouted, shaking his narrowly missed hand on _principle_.

Italy pouted, though Germany didn't notice as the door to his office opened and in popped a rather gangly looking soldier. Italy had seen him many times, he seemed to care for Germany a lot! He snapped his heels together and threw his hand up and out in salute as Germany jumped down from his stepping stool perch. "Yes?" he asked after returning the salute.

Italy always cringed at that salute. It looked like it kind of hurt! Especially that heel thing… Germans were so durable.

"Sir!" the awkward soldier said, as strong as his squeaky voice could manage. "A call's come in from England, sir!"

Already on his way out the door, Germany waved his thanks to the messenger boy as Italy ran up to follow hot on his trail. Germany was grumbling a bit as he paced down the hall to the room with the phone. The receiver was set on a table with not a speck of dust. "He just doesn't take a hint," Germany grumbled. He _knew_ what this call was about. Picking up the receiver, his voice lowered to an impressively dark and official octave. "Yes?"

No pause was spent by the nation on the other side. "Okay, look." The other sounded frustrated, if not a bit desperate. "Look, I know you want Czechoslovakia to let go of your Sudetenland," the British accent rambled quickly, "France and I get this. But you _do_ realize France has a defensive pact with Czechoslovakia?"

It was clear that England was desperate to try to keep war out of this entire situation. He had a lot on his plate when it came to that, and it was something that made Germany confident in his upper hand on the situation. "I'm sorry, does it seem like I care?" Germany asked. "I thought I made it quite clear that Czechoslovakia has no right to my Sudetenland."

A soft tug came to his sleeve. It was Italy. "Can I see your Sudetenland, Germany?"

Germany just reached over and put his hand over the smaller man's face to muffle his mouth. Let the grown-ups talk, Italy, the gesture said.

England was silent for a time, though Germany could hear the frantic shuffling of papers and clanking of teacups. Footsteps, more than just one, as well. So frantic. Finally, England spoke. "Okay, can't we talk about this? I'll fly back over, and I'll even bring France with me, and you can bring Italy. Give us a chance to settle this differently than you marching on Czechoslovakia. Because if France has to live up to the defensive pact, you must bloody well know I'll have to back him up. I know that might not worry you much, but think of the loss of life if you march!"

Germany was listening intently, infallible as Italy nuzzled against the hand over his face. Small giggles escaped him as he did so, and it kind of tickled, but Germany remained focused. Calm and stoic, and yet Germany was obviously contemplating England's words. His boss would prefer appeasement over combat, and the chance to mobilize more men into his army. Germany's Sudetenland was riddled with those eager to rejoin the motherland of Germany, and frankly Germany felt the way his boss did (even if for entirely different reasons). "…fine. I'll place the order to hold off the march. Are you capable of flying to Munich with France by tomorrow?"

"You are?" Honest surprise came over the receiver, and Germany rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed at that. But a cough was had, and England was back to normal, though he was eager. "Of course! He's on standby, we could be there by the morning."

"Then it's agreed." The receiver was set on its base with the phone, severing the connection, and Germany then took notice to the fact that Italy appeared to be all but molesting his hand, and quickly reclaimed his hand with an appalled look. "What are you _doing_?"

Italy looked a bit flustered, appearing to have not at all heard Germany's half of the conversation. Germany hoped that he had, and was just… being Italy about it. "I-I was just trying to figure out the lotion Germany uses!" he said, still flustered. "Your hands are always so soft…"

Germany looked slightly defeated, deciding it best to simply keep moving. He had to announce the decision and deliver orders for rides to await the ambassadorial arrivals of England and France, and for the meeting hall in Munich that would be the stage for the attempt of this great agreement being pushed at the fascist nation of Germany.

**

**September 29th, 1938**

It was like walking in on a parent finishing up scolding their child for kicking their feet up onto the furniture. France had just been lowering his feet to the floor from the quaint table that they would be meeting around under the watchful eye of England just as Germany walked in, dressed in formal uniform with a clipboard under his arm. Behind him, Italy bound in with a clipboard on his own. However, unlike Germany's, which fastened paperwork and even a copy of the Treaty of Versailles, his was just a bunch of blank papers that he could draw on while the other nations spoke. Oh, and to take notes. That too!

"Gentlemen," Germany said with a nod, rounding around the table for his own seat.

"_Stop treating me like you should be treated, delinquent_," France muttered under his breath at England, before looking over Germany. What a nice uniform~ "Well, hello, Germany. So formal today, I see."

England was already face-palming. He knew the other's ways, and this was a very uncomfortable start to an important meeting. Fortunately, Germany was hardly the sort to reciprocate too much to that sort of compliment. Anyone who could concentrate on full out invasions when accompanied by Northern Italy was someone with a concentration of steel. Germany tossed his clipboard to the table in front of him and took a seat, simply nodding to France's compliment, much to England's appreciation.

"Does anyone have anything they have to do before we get started?" Germany asked.

He folded his hands together on the table, and ignored his ally as he plopped into his seat and pointed out to a crate standing by the door. "What's that, France?" Italy asked, genuinely curious. Germany leaned around to peer between France and England. He hadn't noticed that…

"Ah, oui!" Sweeping to his feet, France made a grand tromp over to the crate to throw open the lid. "I hope you didn't mind, Germany, but I asked that pretty little German girl to bring us a set of crystal flutes~ Meetings are so droll without a bit of good champagne." From the crate, he produced the first of about twelve bottles and it left Italy clapping quietly, but excitedly, and agreeing that the German girl was cute despite having yet to see her.

Germany spied the flutes on the oak wall table behind France and just waved it off with black gloved hands. "Fine, I don't care."

"Consider it a _peace offering_," England insisted. He ignored as Italy leapt from his seat and flounced off to assist France with getting glasses poured. "We've been quite lenient on your behaviors so far—"

"Don't speak to me as though I'm a child," Germany warned. His prior look of passive determination to get the meeting going twisted into a glare between him and the two behind him. Italy would catch if France tried to poison the drinks. …right? "As it stands, you're lucky I don't make moves to reclaim all that the Holy Roman Empire had back when."

"I'm beginning to wonder!" England replied. He only slightly flinched as one of the flutes was placed in front of him. "The Rhineland was supposed to be permanently demilitarized. You marched in and directly defied the Treaty of Versailles to arm them, and you _insisted_ that would be your last claim."

Germany nodded to Italy in thanks for his own flute and brought his laced hands up to his face and tilted his head to the side. "The Sudetenland is _mine_. It shouldn't have been partitioned off in the first place. And more than seventy-five percent of its people want to rejoin me, instead of being part of that—"

"This is really good!" Italy beamed suddenly, holding up his flute to emphasize his compliment to France.

"Yeah?" France asked as he leaned forward. Throwing on extra charm for the other nation that both he and England were trying to soothe (though that one was much easier), he smiled through fingers playfully splayed over his face. "We'll save a bottle, and you can take it home to your boss, okay?"

"Yay! Okay! Can we save another for Germany's boss, too?" He couldn't just forget Germany and his boss! Even if there was something weird about Germany's boss… Oh well, Italy figured he was just a very driven, eccentric man. Those sorts of leaders turned up now and again through history!

France nodded, almost cooing Italy. "Well, of course!"

And that was the one good thing about having France on board. When it came to appeasing, France was naturally talented in charming others. It helped that he was a considerable world player, as was Great Britain. Though, honestly, the German-Italian alliance was a bit of a wild card in there, considering the past. But that was fine. England and France were already prepared to basically bend backwards, if they had to, to just get Germany to calm the hell down. There were other things to worry about, like Spain. The ambitions of fascist leaders would hopefully be quenched this night.

England focused on Germany again, who was pulling off his black leather gloves slowly. "I'd like to make it very clear that we're here to prevent the loss of life in your trying to reclaim your Sudetenland."

"You say that as though, in the end, you don't believe I have any right to _my_ Sudetenland," Germany retorted, glaring.

"I-If it's Germany's Sudetenland," Italy interrupted, "then I think that it really shouldn't be up to debate!" He said it while holding his champagne flute in one hand, and his pen in the other. His bright eyes looked all around the table. "That's like taking your Edinburgh away from you, England!"

"We've all lose affluence of land in the past," France interjected, if only because the fact that they kept saying 'Sudetenland' and it was making his ears hurt a little. "It's a simple fact. There have been times in the past that we've all fought for the same affluences." He used his flute to gesture to Italy. "And some of us have gained along the way."

Italy's eyes squinted, and he cocked his head to the side with a small, puckered pout on his lips. Did France really think that was really that charming? France was the reason Italy lost a very good friend of his… The pout shifted into a small, less intimidating glare. "I don't think it's very nice to be talking like that to Germany. Nothing's happened to _him_ except loss."

"And I don't think I need to remind anyone here as to _why_," England said. "Beyond that, it was much the same when Germany and his brother obtained victory during the Franco-Prussian war and created the Treaty of Frankfurt."

"Where is that bastard these days, anyway?" France trailed off as he turned to look around the room. It was as though he was expected the lunatic to leap out now that he'd been mentioned. Like the devil, really. Say his name, and he'll appear. He'd tried it, once, and it worked! ...and given what happened, France had to reconsider his choice in attempting to conjure him up again.

Germany was glaring at France now over his hands. "You're not winning any points. _Either_ of you. I agree that, if one can be made, a peaceful resolution in the reclaiming of my Sudetenland would be best. My boss agrees with this as well. But if all you two plan to do is backhandedly chastise my want for my Sudetenland returned to me, then you're wasting my time, and Italy's as well."

France crossed his legs and leaned in against the table, puckering his lips in consideration. England was quiet, before he began to fumble out papers to write on. They were here to appease these countries. Appease them, for the sake of many lives both military and civilian. He had to keep reminding himself of this fact… "Of course we agree that you deserve your Sudetenland back. If we can arrange your Sudetenland to be annexed back to you, can you agree on it really being your final acquisition?"

"Has anyone here seen Germany's Sudetenland?" Italy piped up again, eyeing Germany as though trying to imagine him with a missing piece.

"I have," France said with a wiggle of eyebrows. …and after a rather steep drink and refill of champagne. He should have brought his whipping boy with to keep track of how many times they planned to say that damnable word. "It's quite lovely~"

"Yes, his Sudetenland is quite nice." England sounded awfully distracted as he fished for a pen that was apparently missing from his lapel pockets. Where did that blasted thing go? "Czechoslovakia seems to think so as well…"

Italy started pouting more than ever before, and looked at Germany. "I want to see your Sudetenland, Germany!"

Germany _looked_ at him, before reaching over and turning Italy's chair so that he was facing his papers on the table again. Out of sight, out of mind (for the time being), Italy did as Germany was insinuating, by fixing on his sketches that were already emblazoning the papers on the table. And then he pulled out his own pen and passed it to England. "Draw it out to be no more complex than it has to be. Concise and to the point, I will get my Sudetenland returned to me."

The fascist nation should have been so happy England and France were focused on appeasing him and Italy, England thought fairly bitterly as he picked up the pen. "_Alright, you'll get your Sudetenland b-_hey. This is a nice pen." It was silver, inlayed with golden markings, including the awkward symbol of Germany's current boss. Even France leered in and made a compliment about it.

Germany's hand balled in a fist and struck the table, and if it hadn't been a behavior, that accompanied with the demand of, "_My Sudetenland_, England!" being one common amongst their sorts, it could have easily been related to that of a child.

"Alright! Bloody hell!"

He muttered at France that Germany was, 'turning out to be a bigger wanker than you,' which got France glaring and clacking his teeth at England aggressively. Not that England much paid attention, speaking louder as he wrote, "This Munich Treaty will be to release Germany's Sudetenland back to him."

"I'm going to draw Germany's Sudetenland~" Italy quietly chirped, happily working on his glass of champagne. He was then nestled back in his chair, his clipboard balanced on one crossed leg so he could drink and draw.

Germany held up a hand as though to wave that idea down to the ground. "No, Italy, just… leave my Sudetenland to your imagination!" he declared, hinting to almost a plea for Italy to do so.

Italy looked at him and pouted. "B-But, I'm going to get to see your Sudetenland sooner or later, right, Germany?"

The German pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded slowly. "We'll go look at my Sudetenland when this is all through."

"And, in return," England verbalized as he wrote in what America once stated were girlie bubble letters, "for Germany's Sudetenland, he agrees to…"

And France sat there with his hand over his face, his ears burning over how many times they said that word over and over and over again. It was a terribly ugly and complicated word to begin with, and they _kept saying it_. Over and over, and finally he hit the table with a hand as he spun in his chair to get up and leave. "There is _not_ enough champagne in the world for this."

**

**March, 1939**

"Will you stop deflowering my staff, you dog!" The angry man-shriek could be heard throughout the entire house as England was just about to punch France square in the face. "What are you even doing here?" They stood in the middle of England's study, shortly after house staff located the Frenchman wandering about doing what he tended to do best.

France smiled coyly, unwavering as a couple of the help ran in, in quite the hurry. One was a girl in a fairly humble cleaning dress and the other a soldier boy. Both were young, and decently attractive, and both were vying for their country's attention as they stopped on each side of him. The soldier boy was waving a paper around, but France didn't hear either of their words as he swung his hands around and decidedly goosed both of them in an equal gesture, causing both to yelp. Which, in turn, caused him to grin at England.

The Brit crossed his arms over his chest and glared, leaning towards him. "Oh, that was just _wrong_," he snapped.

"Britain, sir!" the soldier beckoned again (after sliding away from France's grasp). "A letter's just come in from Prague! It's from Germany, sir!"

"What's it say?" England asked, looking honestly surprised.

France rolled his eyes at that, and took the paper from the solider. "Oi, so lazy. Let me see this." He unfolded it and looked at he flowery handwriting addressed from Germany to England and France. "Italy wrote it." The detailed hearts and X-eyed faces were more tell-tale than anything.

"Doesn't matter," England said as he stepped closer. "What's it say?"

France was quiet as he read it, clearly growing a bit more grim as he did so. This wasn't good at all… "…Germany's declared Slovakia, Bohemia and Moravia under his protection."

England reflected France's grim look then. Germany forsook the agreement from back in Munich? England had even taken extra measures to draw up an additional agreement to try to solidify peace… His bosses had been so happy and hopeful that the appeasement was going to work some time ago. And of course, with this declaration, England already knew what was going to happen next. "…he's going to go after Poland next."

France clapped a hand to his cheek, the other wrapped around his chest, as he tried to shake off his own sinking feeling. They'd warned Germany of their reactions if this happened. They warned him, and England's words were the 'it' of France's decision. "I am _not_ going to listen to that bastard whine. We should start mobilizing right away."

* * *

War is srs bsns. The original Munich agreement dealt with Chamberlain (Britain), Daladier (France), Mussolini (Italy) and, of course, the man of the hour: Hitler. The plea for an attempt to appease Hitler was actually in a telegram, but I have this thing about the nations being like on one another's speed dial, so sue me. D: Chamberlain really did do all he could to try to maintain peace on September 29th and 30th, 1938. Also, at the time that Hitler took Slovakia, Bohemia and Moravia, Mussolini had yet to officially agree to fight with Hitler. He didn't actually declare war alongside Hitler until like 1940.


End file.
